Perchance to Dream
by FraidyCat
Summary: Tag to 6.11  "Appt. in Samarra"
1. Chapter 1

**Perchance to Dream**

**by Fraidy Cat**

_Disclaimer: All things Supernatural owned and operated by CW and/or Eric Kripke._

**…...**

Now that Sam could sleep, Dean couldn't.

Or _wouldn't_, more accurately. It wasn't like Bobby wasn't there, hovering around the edges and offering to keep an eye on Sam for him. But Dean just couldn't trudge upstairs and take a peaceful nap, as if none of this was his fault.

Hell, this was _all_ his fault. He had started them all down this road when he made the deal, after Cold Oak; the first time he decided he couldn't live without Sam. He had known there would be consequences to pay, but had wrongfully assumed that he would be getting the bill himself. He hadn't considered what would happen to Sam, when the deal came due. He should have known that Sam would be as unwilling to live without his brother as he himself had been.

He sighed and let his head drop, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. He was such a tool; he hadn't learned anything from that experience. Being with Not-Quite-Sam these last few months had just made him miss his little brother even more, and that made him desperate to put all the parts back together. Angels and demons - even Death - had warned him, had told him what shape Sam's soul would be in after all this time, but he hadn't listened. To Dean, it had seemed simple: Sam was broken. You fixed what was broken. You didn't just learn to deal with the broken state; _you fixed it_ - even if it begged you not to.

His eyes watered as he remembered the fear in Sam's voice, the pleading expression in his eyes. Fear was an emotion, wasn't it? If Dean was so desperate to have Emo Sam back, why hadn't that been enough, to finally see a normal reaction from the kid? Maybe Sam could have been fixed in some other way.

Dean had never even asked.

A throat cleared behind him, and Dean wiped at his eyes as he lifted his head. He hadn't even heard Bobby come down the stairs. "He's still sleeping," he announced needlessly.

Bobby advanced as far as Dean's chair. Considering how close Sam had come to killing him, Dean couldn't really blame the guy for keeping a little distance between them. "He ain't slept in over a year, idgit," the old man said gruffly. "Got some catching up to do." He continued to contemplate Sam's peaceful face. "Least he don't seem to be havin' no nightmares."

Dean stretched the muscles in his back and shoulders. "Tell me I'm wrong to worry about that."

Bobby looked at him in surprise. "Come again?"

Dean shrugged and returned Bobby's gaze. "It's not normal. Sam's had nightmares most of his life, especially after Jess, after the hellhounds...he _should_ be having nightmares. Instead he's been lying there, not moving, for almost five days."

Bobby looked back at Sam. "Maybe it's that...'wall' thingy," he mused."Anyway, I brought more sheets. We should change him again, clean him up a little, turn him on his side for awhile." His voice took on authority. "Then you need to get some food, a shower, maybe some rest. When this boy wakes up, you'll scare the soul right back out of him."

"Not funny," groused Dean. "Where the hell is Cas? I don't know if this is normal, for Sammy to sleep this long."

"I doubt Cas knows either," replied Bobby. "Didn't he say this...particular scenario...has never happened before?"

Dean stood, knees creaking and back protesting the sudden movement. "Where are the damn sheets? he growled.

Bobby rolled his eyes and started to turn around, but a movement on the bed distracted him. Sam hadn't moved voluntarily since he had stopped screaming, and lapsed into sleep. "Sam?"

Dean heard the wonder in his friend's voice and plopped down hurriedly on the edge of the cot. He brushed greasy hair from Sam's forehead, then trailed his fingers along San's jawline, stubbled with the beard that had grown since Dean had last shaved him two days ago. "Sammy?" he questioned anxiously. "Sam?"

Sam answered with a sleepy sigh, and Dean smiled up at Bobby, gesturing toward the half-empty water bottle that sat on the floor near the chair he had been sitting on. Bobby moved to fetch the water, and Dean turned his attention back to his brother. "Come on, Sammy; open those eyes for me. Are you ready for some water?"

Sam's eyes remained closed, but his mouth parted slightly, and his tongue darted out to lick at dry lips. Dean laughed and accepted the bottle of water from Bobby, who crossed to the other side of the cot and prepared to hoist Sam into a sitting position. "Thanks," Dean murmured with an appreciative nod. Bobby grunted as he kneeled next to the cot. He slid an arm under Sam's shoulders and started lifting. Dean used his free hand to latch onto Sam's bicep. He tilted the water bottle and began to slowly trickle water into Sam's mouth.

Sam swallowed without encouragement; after a few seconds, Dean nodded again, and he and Bobby carefully lowered Sammy back onto the cot. As his head hit the pillow, Sam's eyes popped open. He looked at Dean for a long moment, green eyes clouded with confusion. "More?" he finally croaked.

"In a minute," Dean answered softly, barely noticing as Bobby lumbered to his feet and backed away from the cot. He kept his eyes locked on his brother. "How you feeling, Sam?"

Sam blinked, seeming to take an internal inventory. "Tired?" he asked.

Dean smiled. "Yeah, we've pretty much established that already. Anything else?"

The confusion in Sam's eyes suddenly gave way to embarrassment, and his face flushed red. "Am I all wet?" he whispered.

Dean patted him gently on the chest. "Don't worry about it," he said. "I...spilled some water."

Sam's eyes seemed to clear a little. "Have I been sick?" he asked.

Dean's own eyes threatened to give his heart away. "Yeah," he answered after a few seconds. "Yeah, you have. But you feel better now, right?"

Sam considered the question. "I feel okay," he said eventually.

Bobby decided it was time to interrupt the brothers. "Do you feel like you could get up the stairs, if Dean and I helped you? Maybe take a shower, have some soup..."

Sam turned his head to look at Bobby and observed the room around him at the same time. "Is this your panic room? In the basement?"

Bobby exchanged a look with Dean, who was shaking his head. He looked back and Sam and attempted a smile. "You were down here when you...got sick," he said. "You'll rest better upstairs."

Sam's eyes clouded again as he looked at Bobby. "I think I had a dream," he mumbled. "It must have been a dream."

"Probably was," Bobby agreed.

"I feel like I should apologize to you," Sam continued. "I don't know how something like that could get into my subconscious...I'm sorry..."

Dean reached out to turn Sam's head so that he was looking at him, again. "Fever dreams," he said.

Sam didn't look convinced. "I love Bobby. I would never..."

Bobby was suddenly beside the cot again. "Hush, boy, it was only a dream. "

Sam yawned and blinked a few times, looking from Dean to Bobby and back to his brother again. "I dreamed a lot," he shared. "Some of it was nice." He smiled. "Dean...you had a family!"

Dean flinched, but managed to keep the smile on his face. "That's not a dream, Sam, that's reality." He could feel Bobby looking at him as he winked at his brother. "_You're_ my family, idjit." He glanced up at Bobby. "_Both_ of you." He looked at Sam again; his eyes were drooping and he was in danger of drifting under again. Dean tapped Sam on the chest. "Hey, let's get you upstairs before you check out again, all right?"

Sam's eyes were mere slits, now. "Okay," he agreed amicably. "Whatever you want, Dean."

_You_, Dean thought to himself as he and Bobby began to help Sam disentangle himself from the sheets. _All I ever wanted was you._

**…...**

End


	2. Waking Up

**Perchance to Dream**

**by Fraidy Cat**

**Chapter 2: Waking Up**

**…...**

Dean trudged into the kitchen and crowded in next to Bobby, in front of the kitchen sink. He let the warm water run over his greasy hands and waited for his friend to pass the bar of industrial-strength soap. "Seen Sam?" he asked. "We left him on the porch after lunch, didn't we?"

Bobby finished with the Lava® and passed the bar to Dean. "By the time you rolled under the Dodge, he was wanderin' around the yard," he answered. "Watched us for awhile, but he didn't say nothin', so I just let him be."

Dean frowned as he scrubbed at his fingernails. "Dammit, Bobby, he could be anywhere! Why didn't you tell..."

Bobby interrupted, drying his hands with a towel that had seen its best days. "Don't get your britches in a twist, boy - I saw him head back into the house about an hour ago. He's probably upstairs takin' another nap. Wonder how long it takes to catch up on a year's missed sleep?"

Dean grunted and grabbed the towel out of Bobby's hands. "You could have started with that little bit of information," he complained, and Bobby grinned. Dean tossed the towel back at Bobby, but there was no heat in the throw, and he was grinning himself. Life was good, at least for the moment, and it had been bad for so long, and so many different times, that Dean was more than ready to take what he could get.

He left the kitchen, stopped in the living room long enough to perch on the arm of the couch and unlace his boots. He toed them off in the corner before he headed up the stairs. His sock-footed approach to the bedroom was quiet, and he rapped lightly on the door. "Sammy?" There was no answer, so Dean twisted the knob and pushed the door inward.

When he saw that Sam was sitting hunched over on his bed, wearing only his boxers and an old t-shirt that stretched too tightly across his chest and would have to be replaced sooner rather than later, Dean almost thought he was interrupting a private moment and backed out of the room. Then he figured out what Sam was doing; he was tracing the fresh scar on the back of his leg.

He moved into the room then, and sat next to Sam on the edge of the single bed. "Hey," he greeted. "What's up? That cut opening up again?" The injury had healed well during Sam's first five-day nap, but was still partially scabbed. Dean hadn't really looked at it in a couple of days, and experience had taught him that anything was possible.

Anything at all.

Sam straightened up and looked at Dean with an intensity that would have knocked him off his feet, if he had been standing. Dean was glad he was sitting down; he had forgotten how powerful Sam's emotions could be. Sam's eyes were wetly glistening, and Dean swallowed, suddenly nervous. "What? The cut?"

Sam shook his head, and a tear flew out of the corner of one eye, splashing onto his brother's cheek. "It wasn't a dream, was it?" he asked softly.

_Shit._ Dean didn't know how to respond to that, so he took the easy way out, and didn't say anything at all.

"Dream injuries don't leave scars. It was real. I tried to kill Bobby," Sam continued dully.

Dean finally found his voice. "You weren't in your right mind, Sam...or your right soul, I guess. It wasn't you. Not really."

"He had to drop me through a trap door," Sam remembered. "If you hadn't come back when you did..."

"Stop," Dean interrupted forcefully. "Just stop!"

Sam inhaled a shaky breath and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, Dean wanted to cry at the pain he saw reflected there. "How many of the nightmares weren't dreams, Dean?" Sam asked. "Is Samuel really alive? Did I let my own brother get turned into a vampire?" Another tear escaped and rolled lazily down his chiseled cheek, and his voice became almost a whisper. "Did you give up your family for me?"

Dean felt the tears pressing at the backs of his own eyes, but he refused to give in to them. "Sam," he said. "Sam. How can you ask me that? Ever since I carried you out of that burning house, you've been the most important part of my family. That's why I couldn't let you go on, the way you were. I had to put you back together...for me, yeah, but for you, too. The Sammy I've known all my life had a soul that kept us all from crossing the line. Me, Bobby - even Dad, in his own twisted way. At the end, he made what he thought was a selfless sacrifice, he tried to do the right thing. The real Sam - you - you wouldn't want to be what you had become."

Sam turned his head toward the small room's window. "I wanted you to be happy," he said sadly. "I wanted you to have Lisa and Ben."

Dean had wanted that too, but sacrificing for Sam was something he had done - mostly willingly - all of his life, so the half-truths came to him naturally. "Don't get me wrong," he said. "Lisa and Ben are great. They were good to me. I care about them." He swallowed. "But they were always a substitute for you. Even Lisa knew that I only came to them because you were gone; she said that as soon as she saw you were back, she knew our days were numbered." Sam didn't reply, so Dean continued. "See, that's the Sam I'm talkin' about. The Sam who planned to give himself to Lucifer to save millions of people he didn't even know. The Sam who made me promise that I would go to Lisa. That's what's in you, Sam. That's what none of us can afford to lose."

A quick rap on the door stopped the longest chick flick moment of Dean's life, and he looked up gratefully to see Bobby standing in the half-open doorway. He regarded their old friend's impassive face, and wondered just how much he had heard. "You boys want to go into town for beer and a pizza?" Bobby asked. "Don't feel like cookin', tonight."

Sam was looking at the floor, now. "I can't believe you can stand to look at me," he said. "I can't believe you've been taking care of me, after what I did. I can't even believe you can be in the same house with me."

Bobby waited for a beat before he answered. Then he moved a little further into the room. "Don't know which one of us you're talking to, idjit, but I'm pretty darn sure we both share the same truth on this one. What you were, for the last year, that don't count no more. Hell, I've done some things during my time that would curl that long hair of yours. You don't know the half of it - but you know enough to know that it's true. But when I did those things, I wasn't myself; I was possessed, or livin' with somethin' possessed, or sitting on my ass in a chair for so long that I forgot who I was. Point is, you're Sam, again. That's all we wanted. Now. You hungry, or are you just gonna sleep all day? Again?"

Sam raised his head and blinked in Bobby's direction. "You guys want to go out in public? With me?"

Dean winked at Bobby, then slapped his brother on the knee. "We have to," he answered. "There's an Emo Special on Thursdays, but you have to bring your own Drama Queen. We can get a free pitcher of beer. Get dressed, Bitch."

Sam wiped at his face and rose somewhat shakily to his feet. "I guess I owe you that much, at least," he said.

"Nah," Dean answered, looking around the room and wondering where he left his boots. "You don't owe us a thing."

**…...**

End (this time I mean it)


End file.
